


Not the Poetry Type

by MaevesChild



Series: Through the Eluvian [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, He's got it SO bad for her, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-06 17:16:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3142349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaevesChild/pseuds/MaevesChild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maxwell Trevelyan is sort of totally and utterly in love.  He didn't mean to, but what are you gonna do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not the Poetry Type

Sometimes Maxwell wondered how it happened.  He was not the right sort of man for a woman like this -- he wasn't noble as his blood might make it seem or pristine and he was most certainly not the poetry type.  He understood why he wanted her; he wasn't blind after all and Cassandra was,  _Maker's Breath_ , if they made all women like that he'd never get anything done.

Thankfully, there was only one of her and somehow he'd managed to get her into his bed even with all his glaring flaws and sordid history.  Of course, he was fooling himself.  She wasn't in  _his_  bed.  He was in hers if he was going to be realistic about it.  He was utterly smitten with her, despite his best intentions.

After that first night, it only got worse.  Once he knew what she looked like under her armor? It was impossible to concentrate.  It was like he was seventeen again with an inappropriate erection at every opportunity.

Inexplicably she came to him tonight.  He heard the hesitant knock at the door and his first reaction was to roll his eyes.  _Now what the fuck was wrong?_  He was almost asleep, half dressed in linen pants and nothing else with that stupid half hard erection that always happened because, as usual, he was thinking about her.  He didn't much care considering it was probably some half arsed scout too worked up to look the great  _Herald of Andraste_  in the eye.   

"What?" he said to the knock.  Instead of a reply, the door opened and closed and he heard familiar footsteps on the stairs.  He was too flabbergasted to even cover himself when he realized it was Cassandra.  She'd seen everything already, but a strange part of him felt the sudden urge to comb his hair.

This fucking woman.  _Maker's Balls._

She stopped and leaned on the railing, giving him that little nervous smile she got when she was unsure of herself.  Maxwell stumbled out of the bed and tried like mad to ignore that the thin fabric of his pants was  _thin._

"I'm happy to see you," he managed, suave as ever.

Cassandra chuckled.  "So I see."

Maxwell cleared his throat.  "You're giving me trouble."

"Good," she said.  It was almost uncharacteristic, but she seemed to be relaxing into the idea that he was utterly, madly, stupidly in love with her.  He wasn't sure he was ready for it still.  "I thought...," she reconsidered.  "Maybe I should go."  

_Okay, maybe not that comfortable._

"Cass," Maxwell resisted the urge to sound annoyed.  He grabbed her waist and pulled her against him.  He was glad she was out of armor for once, though he was certain he would have pressed himself up against her anyway.  She was impossible to resist.  He was sure she couldn't help but notice that his half erection had become something worth noting just because she walked in the room.  "I wish you would just stay here all the time.  I'll read poetry, do whatever you want.  Just...just stay."  He knew he sounded flustered.  

She put a hand of the side of his face and looked at him, her eyes hooded.  The tip of her tongue appeared and disappeared between her lips.  He could smell her, all clean sweat and musk and it took all his self control to not just grab her and bend her over the railing right there.  

"I've been thinking about our...about  _you._  About making love to you, and I couldn't sleep.  I can't think about...." she trailed off, and he didn't doubt it was because of the slow ridiculous smile that spread across his face.

"Thank Andraste," he said, "that it isn't just me having this problem."

"We're going to get ourselves killed," Cassandra muttered, sliding her fingers into the hair on the back of his head.  "This  _distraction."_ She kissed the corner of his mouth as if she couldn't help herself.  

Maxwell chuckled, kissed her back full on the mouth and shivered at the little breathless sound she made.

"There's only one solution to this problem, love," she said.   _Maker_  that word,  _love,_  it sounded so good from her mouth.  "We'll just have to get it out of our systems."

"Are you propositioning me Seeker?"

She gave him a wicked smile. He loved it when she did that.  "I'm not really asking," she said, pushing on his shoulders until he stumbled back a step towards the bed.  

"I like a woman who knows what she wants."

Cassandra advanced on him with the same confidence she showed in battle, that same brashness he loved about her.  Her hips swayed and Maxwell gave thanks to the Maker for every last inch of her.  She was going to kill him in all the best ways.

_He couldn't wait._

Somehow, they made it to the bed.  He didn't remember his own feet moving but there they were and she pushed him down on to the mattress, the heels of her hands in the junction on his shoulders.  Her hips pinned his to the bed with almost enough pressure, but not quite. Maxwell couldn't help but arch his hips up against her.  

She kissed him.  Maxwell temporarily forgot his own name. He could have, however, recited each one of her names like a fucking litany.  Her tongue was in his mouth, sliding with precision along his.  She tasted like sugar and he had no idea why but  _that was it_.  He was starting a new religion to worship her.

The church of Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena Pentaghast ... _Trevelyan._

_SHIT brain, not now._

"Maker," he managed to mutter.  "Cass."  He tried to form a sentence but it wasn't going well, especially now that she'd reached a hand between them and squeezed him and then just fucking grinned at him like a cat.

"Yes?"

He just couldn't take it.  Maxwell flipped her over on to her back and kissed her again, trying to tug at button, buckles, whatever he could reach to try to get past the cloth at all that glorious skin he knew was underneath.  Frustratingly, he got nowhere.  He sat back, grabbing her thighs to make sure she didn't get away.

He was dumbfounded, again for a moment, his fingers flexing against the firm muscles in her legs.  Her mouth was slightly opened, already a little pink from the brush of his stubble.  Her pupils were dilated and she was just looking at him with this expression of combined lust and adoration.  He was pretty sure he could die right then and there with not one single regret.

"I love you."  He'd said it before.  He wanted to just say it a thousand times.  The first time she said  _here, now, I believe you._   "I hope you believe me here too."

"I believe you," she said, a myriad of almost inexplicable emotion fluttering across her face.  She was usually so stoic, but when she let her guard down she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.  "And I believe  _in_  you too.  And I love you."

Maxwell thought his chest might explode.  He kissed her again, gently this time.  He wanted to be everything she wanted, like one of those perfect white knights in those stories she loved.  He was no knight but he was determined to do his best.

This time, no fumbling.  He sat up again, carefully unfastening hooks and buttons on her tunic as she watched him.  She didn't speak, didn't move, just let him do what he would, one fastener at a time.  Finally, he reached the last one and her tunic fell open.  He wanted to stare but he controlled himself enough to continue on.   _One thing at a time, man._ He untied the laces on her pants, shimmying them over the swell of her hips, lifting one long leg against his chest so he could get them off her.  He pressed a reverent kiss to the back of her knee.

Cassandra shuddered. "That tickles."   He did it again.  She swatted at him and wrapped her leg around him again.  "Ass."

With a chuckle, Maxwell attended to his own clothes, what little there was, untying the drawstring on his pants and getting them off.  He turned back to find her staring at him.  He couldn't control the stupid grin that spread across his face again.

"We are awful pretty, aren't we?"  

Cassandra's cheeks flushed as pink as a maiden.  "You really think that don't you?"

Shaking his head, he laid down over her.  He loved the way it felt when they were skin on skin and she finally let her barriers down.  There was such a soft, glorious woman under all that armor that he couldn't help but want.  

"Maker's Breath Cass, you are the most gorgeous....," he gave up on words and just kissed her.  He braced himself on one forearm to run his other hand along her ribs, the curve of her waist.  He reached between them to position himself, pushing forward and feeling her answering movement.  

This moment, when he felt her open up to him, envelop him, take him in; it was like nothing else in all the world.  She was special, she was  _more_  than just a lover or a conquest _._ Maxwell closed his eyes, soaking in the sensation and the soft, mewling sound she made, the way her leg wrapped around him, the tension as her back arched up against him.

They didn't speak now, or maybe couldn't.  Instead, he pressed soft kisses against the length of her neck, her collarbones, his hips slowly starting a rhythm against her.  Her fingers gripped the cord of muscle along his spine, pulling him closer and closer still.  She overwhelmed him and he tried to concentrate on her reactions instead of the increasing demands of his own body.  He wanted to please her, to make her lose all her careful control.

_He wanted her to be utterly his, whatever it took._

Maxwell changed the angle of his hips, just a little and was rewarded with a pleading sound that nearly undid him.  He clenched his teeth.  Cassandra's entire being changed, her hips jerking up off the bed.  Maxwell hung on for dear life, trying to carefully repeat the exact motion.  

They were silent except for the sound of skin on skin, of ragged breathing, of the small desperate sounds neither of them could control.  The world shrunk down to a pinpoint.  Maxwell fisted his hands into the mattress.

With a shudder and a high pitched sound, Cassandra came undone underneath him, her fingers clutching at his ass and pulling him against her.  He felt everything, the flutter of her muscles clenching him, the wash of hot moisture and he couldn't hold himself back for even one second longer.

He fell apart  _the whole world fell apart_  and Cassandra caught him.  

He felt her lips pressing against his temple, the ferocious beat of her heart against his.  Her arms wrapped tightly around him.  A wave of contentment and affection washed over him.  He was always happy to be alive, but this clinched it.

"Maker, I love you," he muttered against her neck.  He felt her smile.  He'd made her happy.  His heart flipped over in his chest.

"I love you too you ridiculous, maddening, beautiful man."

 _He'd take it._   It was true though, he wasn't really the poetry type, but he was damn well going to try anyway. 

 

 

 


End file.
